I have been inspired by my time in the outdoors and in wilderness to be more passionate about conservation, and I can only hope that getting girls out into our public lands for recreation will spark the same passion in them. I believe that women have the heart, the strength, and the compassion to change the world, and this next generation of young women will be crucial to protecting our environment as we know it.

So, you’re going on a hut trip. You’ve been promised the backcountry ski lines of your dreams, incredible views, and a roof over your head. If you’re lucky, you’ve got a week to spend exploring untouched powder, away from the masses, in some incredible locale. Or, if you’re like me, you’ve just got four days off work. Two of them will be spent driving, approaching, and traversing out. That leaves two days for what you really came for: the skiing. But what if a storm rolls in? If you’re at a forest service hut or backcountry Yurt in Montana, you go ski trees. Fun! If you’re way above treeline, you might be SOL.

My best and favorite ski or backpacking partners are the ones who don’t allow me to say sorry. “Sorry I’m so slow,” “sorry, I can’t find my tongues, this is taking forever,” “sorry, I’m not sure I feel comfortable skiing that line,” “I have to pee again... sorry!”

A friend recently said to me, “You love skiing more than anybody else I know.” I laughed and replied that I probably just talk about skiing more than anybody else he knows, which is likely true. It’s easily my favorite activity, and it seems I can’t shut up about it. But why am I so obsessed with a pair of planks that I attach to my feet? Skiing, more specifically ski touring, has profoundly changed my life. It has been a huge balancer of my mental health.

The practical adventurer starts early: especially for long days, pre-dawn departures can be crucial to planning returns-to-the-car that don’t require headlamps and growling stomachs. But we didn’t have the luxury of an early start, as our wild idea was hatched in the morning. Departing from Missoula mid-morning with a three hour drive ahead of us, we knew we would be needing some high-powered mountain bike lights for the ride down from Logan Pass.

Some days, we reach the summit. We sit on top of a mountain, weather allowing, and we eat a sandwich and we take in the view. No matter how many summits you've reached, to sit atop a mountain is a wonderful feeling. Even on the smallest of peaks, there is a sense of triumph, as well as a reminder to feel small and humbled and thankful. But there are also days when the summit is not quite within reach.

Anybody who has lived in the mountains knows: sometimes they’re there, and sometimes they’re not. This seems to be particularly true of the Alaska Range. One day you’re treated with the most brilliant and blinding views of great white peaks before a vibrant blue backdrop, and the next day you can hardly tell that mountains even exist in the vicinity. I think that the more time one has spent in Alaska, the more appreciative one becomes of those spellbinding bluebird stretches.

Living in a relatively remote part of Alaska has taught me, amongst other things, to appreciate living in the slow lane. Comforts don’t come quite as easily here, and they usually don’t come quickly either.

I love walking on glaciers. I love feeling as if I've walked my way to another planet. And I love how a living, shifting, moving force feels below my feet. The uncertainty of it all--a thick sheet of ice supporting my weight--is a vivid reminder of how small I am, and of how powerful the Earth is.